Page 17

CHAPTER 17

Tristan

I can’t concentrate on anything except her.

Shoving away from my desk, I forget about writing my English Lit paper and head to my window. The irony that my thoughts remain with her is humbling and ironic, considering I’m the one who pushed—no, more like shoved her away. The hurt look on her face when I feigned interest in Janelle pierces me like a knife through my heart.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stare into the darkness. I have no desire to be with Janelle or any other woman. There’s only Jordyn. She’s the only one I want.

Am I doing the right thing by pushing her away? I have no idea. But the pain that engulfs me every time I think about that period of my life is enough to make me believe it is.

A few weeks after Tamara and I broke it off, my family was killed, and the heartache was unbearable. I was so miserable I gave up everything. Hell, I almost lost my spot on the team. And I would have if my dad wasn’t Christian Harrington, a former distinguished alumnus of the Wolverines who turned pro-hockey and became the star center for the Pittsburgh Penguins .

The air in my room is stifling as regret wars with doubt. I can’t breathe .

I quietly exit my bedroom and slip downstairs, then through the back door. My bare feet cross the deck until I reach the railing, gripping it until my knuckles hurt as I suck in giant gulps of air.

Breathe, Tristan. Look at the stars in the sky. Which is the brightest?

Focusing on the night sky calms me. My breathing evens out as I stand there, basking in the cover of darkness. For once, I can be myself and not have to hide behind the public persona I’ve created to survive. Others see a high-achieving student, star center, and team captain of the Wolverines. The only son of a legend.

On the surface, I appear to be all those things. Inwardly, I’m a broken mess of fragmented pieces. A shell of who I once was.

My life is divided into two periods: pre-death and post-death. Before their deaths, I was a happy-go-lucky guy who thought he had the world at his feet. And post-death, I became a broken man who lost everything. Someone who knows how easily love can be ripped away from you. One moment to snuff out the flames and leave behind charred ashes.

A faint voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I immediately back against the side of the house, becoming one with the shadows.

Jordyn’s melodic voice floats through my ears, and all the pressure in my chest eases. Her tone is low, her phone pressed to her ear as the light from inside the house illuminates her like an apparition.

“I feel like a fucking idiot, Chelsea. What the hell was I thinking? I don’t make rash decisions like that.” She pauses, listening to whatever Chelsea is saying, before she continues pacing. Her voice is exasperated. “Yes, we had sex in the shower. That’s not the point of the story.”

She’s quiet again before her gaze darts to the house. “I was foolish. We didn’t use a condom. He… I… Well, I told him I had an IUD.”

My shoulders are by my ears. Oh, shit. If she lied, I need to get her the morning-after pill ASAP.

“I know the IUD is effective. I’m not worried about pregnancy,” she snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I slept with the hockey player who was fucking a puck bunny when I arrived. I probably have ten different STDs because I’m stupid and fell for the bullshit story that he hasn’t been with anyone in a year.”

It isn’t bullshit. My hands curl into fists, hating that she doubts me now. I understand why, but I fed her a false narrative to get her to distance herself from me.

She shakes her head, a brittle laugh coming from her. “Yeah, right. I mean, I know he didn’t finish with Janelle, and yeah, he wore a condom with her, but how many others…” Her voice breaks. “I can’t do this.” Her shoulders slump, and I hate that when she lifts her face, the light reveals silvery tears glistening on her cheeks.

Wiping her cheeks, she exhales a long breath. “Making matters worse, I have to go to their stupid hockey game on Saturday. Mom called me earlier and Robert is insisting we get there early to support Josh.”

She bites her lip, pacing back and forth. When she speaks again, her voice is a soft plea. “Can you come with me to the game?”

More silence ensues before her face lights up. “Tomorrow is amazing. But I have a class and then work.”

She’s quiet, driving me crazy as I wonder what her friend is saying. When she finally speaks, her words cut like a knife. “Yeah, there’s a health center on campus. I’ll get tested, and then we can hang out.”

Irritation causes my hands to curl into fists. I don’t have an STD. I barely fucked Janelle, and I used a condom. After Tamara and I broke up, I had one brief fling where I used protection, but it was apparent she wanted a relationship, and there was no way I could do that. I broke it off, went to the health center, and got tested. I received a clean bill of health and have been celibate until Janelle and Jordyn.

The sadness in her voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” Her chin and lips wobble before tears slide down her cheeks again. “I thought Tristan really liked me, Chelsea. He said I was special, and I believed him. He probably says that to everyone…” She clamps a hand over her mouth, unable to continue.

My heart twists and shatters into pieces inside my chest as I watch her. You are special. I never considered coming inside a woman without protection until you.

“I know. You’re right. It’s just… I haven’t been told I’m special by any man since my dad died. And the way he said it, he seemed so sincere.”

Fuck. My mouth is hanging open as I stare at her. Her dad is dead? Josh never mentioned that . What happened to him? When did he die?

But I can’t ask her those questions. I have no right. No claim over her… My limbs shake, and it spreads until my entire body is vibrating. I want to claim her. Hell, I’m fucking desperate for her to be mine, despite the promise I made.

I feel like shit as she quietly cries. “I know, Chelsea. Since my dad died, I’ve built walls around myself, keeping others out. As soon as I found a man I thought was different, I let them down. Now I’m hurting while he’s probably in his room, thinking about banging that slut Janelle in the ass.” The humiliation and hurt roll off her in waves that wash over me, making me feel like utter shit.

God, I’m a fucking asshole. I never wanted to hurt her.

“I know, Chelsea. I just… Well, it doesn’t matter how foolish and used I feel.” She heaves out a long sigh. “I need to change the subject. This is too much.” Taking a deep breath, she blows it out. “Has anything strange been happening there? Any more details about Lucas? Is he still in the facility?”

She’s quiet, her brows furrowed as she paces a few feet from me. “I’m glad you’re coming here tomorrow. I’ll feel better when I see you.” She turns and heads to the door, so close to me. I remain perfectly still, holding my breath as she says, “Love you, too.”

She ends the call and heads inside without noticing me.

Exhaling a long, mournful sigh, the sad reality isn’t lost on me. Once again, I’m alone in the darkness with my despair.

Sweat runs in rivulets down my chest as I bolt upright in my bed, my chest heaving. My wild eyes search the room, reality sinking in. It was only a nightmare.

The haunting images of my parents and sister’s charred bodies dissipate. Only this time, Jordyn was with them. The haunted look in her eyes before the flames engulfed?—

No! I cut the thought off and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Running a hand through my hair, I pace the floor, trying to forget the horrific dream that makes me wish I could climb out of my own damn skin.

My breathing is ragged, and my pulse pounds in my ears. I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge in my room, slurping it down before I toss the empty plastic bottle in the trash. I feel marginally better .

Exiting my bedroom to use the restroom and splash water on my face, I stop and stare at her closed door. I tiptoe to it, pressing my ear against the wood. I listen for a few beats before turning the handle and opening the door.

I need to make sure she’s okay.

Stepping inside her room, I quietly close the door behind me. I reach the foot of her bed, staring down at her. The moonlight filtering through her window gives her a silvery glow, making her appear otherworldly. She’s curled on her side, long lashes resting on her flushed cheek. She steadily breathes in and out, and I breathe with her, feeling my chest fully expand and contract from being near her.

She’s a fucking angel. I don’t deserve her.

Although there is so much to learn about her, tonight, I learned we have more in common than I imagined when I overheard her mention her dad’s death. It makes me long to ask her questions I have no right asking, desperately seeking a connection to someone who understands what losing a parent feels like, especially when you’re supposed to be in the prime of your life.

Sadness infiltrates me as I study her tear-stained cheeks. I did that. I inflicted pain on this beautiful woman, and she has no idea why. She believes I’m a pucking male slut rather than a twenty-year-old man terrified of love.

It pains me to be so close and unable to touch her, but I suspect she’ll raise hell if she wakes and finds me in her room after what happened earlier. Yet, I’m so relieved she’s okay, her steady breathing bringing me a peace I haven’t known since my family died, that I stand there like an idiot, feet glued to the floor.

I should leave.

Turning my head to try and get the courage to go, my gaze lands on a picture and a Strawberry Shortcake doll behind it on her bookshelf .

I move toward it, a smile curling my lips. As I lift the picture frame, I see a younger Jordyn wrapped in a man’s arms. They are laughing, and she clings to the doll on her lap.

Sadness engulfs me. Strawberry Shortcake was my sister’s favorite, too.

I grab the doll before setting the picture frame back where I found it. My finger traces over the adorable ragdoll with red hair and big green eyes, a permanent smile stitched onto her face. Memories of my sister with her doll fill my head.

My finger brushes over something on the back of her dress, and I spin the doll around. A tiny note is pinned to her back.

Jordyn,

You’ll always be my strawberry shortcake. Hug her whenever you’re hurting, and know that I’m hugging you back, even though you can’t feel or see me. I live inside your heart.

Love Always,

Dad

I look over at Jordyn’s sleeping form, my heart squeezing painfully inside my chest. I want to gather her in my arms and hold her tightly. To ease her pain.

But I can’t.

Still holding the doll, I sit on the chair by her desk. My past and present collide as the pain grips me. I’d be in agony if I weren’t sitting in her bedroom.

Sighing, my gaze slides to her. I watch her chest’s steady rise and fall, my breathing syncing with hers.

You’re being selfish. If you care about her, you’ll let her go.

Why is walking away easier said than done?